


And I'm in Pieces

by coricomile



Category: Men's Hockey RPF, due South
Genre: Kid Fic, M/M, Permawip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:33:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23958487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coricomile/pseuds/coricomile
Summary: The unfinished fic from that time Jonny and Kaner adopted a 6 year old Artemi by accident and called in Geno (and Sid) for support.
Relationships: Benton Fraser/Ray Kowalski, Patrick Kane/Jonathan Toews, Patrick Kane/Jonathan Towes/Evgeni Malkin, Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin
Comments: 4
Kudos: 52





	And I'm in Pieces

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. Someone finish this for me. I would like, give you 20 monies even. I'm poor, sorry. But this was a fic I've had in my head for literally 5 years, and I'm sad I will never finish it.

Chicago in the summer is indescribable. It's too hot and there's a metric ton of tourists and the traffic is awful, but the city lights up in a way that it just doesn't during the gray stretch of winter. It's strange to still be there post-season, but Jonny's come to call the place home. 

Patrick bumps shoulders with him before wandering off to peer into the Macy's window front. The display is full of rainbows and fake suns, summer clothes on bizarrely proportioned mannequins. It's not the only weird display they've seen all day, but Patrick keeps coming back to it, twisting his head like he's going to make any better sense of it if he just looks hard enough. 

They've spent the past week bumming around, playing tourist. They've lived in the city for years, but they've never really spent time just exploring stuff for the hell of it. It's nice, if a little hokey. Every so often, Patrick pauses to take a selfie. He sends them all to his sisters and gleefully reads their increasingly exasperated responses. It's almost like a real vacation. 

"I want Portillo's," Patrick says when he gets bored of the display. 

"How are you not sick of Portillo's?" Jonny asks, even as he aims them in the right direction. They've eaten there four times in the past month, but Patrick presses for it at least twice a week. It's good, but it's not really in the spirit of trying new stuff.

"Best Italian beef in the world," Patrick says cheerfully, just like he does every time. 

They take a booth in the back and eat their sandwiches slowly, languishing in the air conditioning. Patrick tangles their ankles under the table, shooting Jonny a shit eating grin when he rolls his eyes. A couple of people stop by their table and ask for autographs and pictures, but they're mostly left alone. 

It's weird, doing boyfriend things with Patrick. He's so used to just hanging out during the season or spending time at each others' places for the week before they head out for their separate summers. Going out in public, _going on dates_ , is kind of strange, even if being with Patrick really isn't. 

If Patrick notices, he doesn't say anything. 

The kid is cute. There's no denying it. He's all curly hair and wide blue eyes, small enough that he barely stands taller than Patrick's knee. The kid blinks up at him, smiling brightly. Patrick returns his smile, squatting to pat the kid's curls. 

"Hey, buddy," Patrick says. His face lights up the way it always does around kids. He'd be a good dad, Jonny thinks. A pushover, definitely, but he'd be a great father. The kid says something back to him in a foreign language, bouncing up on his toes. His smile gets wider when he sees Jonny. 

"Hey," Jonny says, squatting down next to them. The kid pats Jonny's chest on the left side, right above where the c on his jersey rests and says something in an excited rush. Jonny grins. "Yeah, little guy. It goes right there."

A harassed looking man sprints towards them from across the park, his hair spiked high and sunglasses down over his nose even though the sun's barely out. A giant dog follows behind him, a white blur against the grass. It knocks against the guy's legs, nearly tripping him, before closing its jaws on the back of the kid's jeans. 

"Christ," the guy mutters. He bends over, panting for a second. "It's like wrangling an eel."

"You his dad?" Patrick asks skeptically. The kid doesn't look anything like him, doesn't seem to speak any English at all. The guy snorts out a laugh. Beside them, the kid is wrestling with the dog, giggling and growling. 

"Detective Kowalski," he says, reaching into his pocket to flash his badge. It looks like a Chicago PD badge, but Jonny isn't the one who's seen a lot of them in person. He looks over at Patrick, who shrugs gamely. "Dief, get the kid. Let's go." 

The dog hops up, grabs the back of the kid's pants again, and begins to drag him towards Kowalski. The kid gamely takes Kowalski's hand, stretching up to reach, but pulls away again when Kowalski starts trying to walk away. 

"Nyet," the kid shouts. Russian, then. Kowalski groans. "Nyet!" The kid breaks free and runs back to Patrick's side, locking his tiny hands around Patrick's wrist. 

"Shoulda made Fraser babysit," Kowalski mutters. He drops down next to them, pushing his sunglasses up into his hair and frowning at the kid. "What? You gonna run away for good?" The kid jerks at Patrick's arm, nearly toppling him out of his crouch. "He can't come. Nyet, kid. Nyet." The kid scrunches up his face in what is sure to be a spectacular shit-fit, but Patrick scoops him up into his arms before anything can come of it. 

"We aren't doing anything anyway," Patrick says. He lets the kid climb onto his shoulders, holding onto his tiny ankles carefully to stabilize him. Kowalski raises an eyebrow but doesn't ask questions. 

That's how they end up downtown at the police station, sitting in the waiting room side by side while the kid colors. Jonny hasn't been in a police department for years, hasn't done anything to warrant it, but he still feels squirmy under the stares of the cops. Patrick doesn't look like he's doing much better. 

"Gentlemen," a deep voice says, startling them into bumping into each other. When Jonny looks up, all he sees is red. It's a- Jonny rubs his eyes and double checks, but that's definitely a mountie in dress reds. Kowalski's a step behind him, the dog next to his legs. 

"Holy Canada," Patrick mutters. 

Jonny breaks on day three. He hides in the bathroom where Patrick can't judge him and dials Sid's number. There's a good chance Sid's still in Pittsburgh, but it's almost as likely that he's already made his way up to Canada. Sid answers just before the phone clicks over to voicemail, a little breathless. 

"Hey," he gasps. There's the murmur of voices in the background, the spaces between them filled in with music. "Hey, Jon. Sorry. One sec." The music fades a little, the voices soften, and then a door clicks. Jonny thumps his forehead against the shower door. He should have taken Shawsy up on the offer for that last season party. "What's up?"

"Kaner and I have a kid," Jonny says. Sid makes a weird noise and Jonny grimaces. "Not, like, biologically. It's- It's a long story. We're watching him until someone can find him a home, but we don't understand him and he won't stop crying, and if he doesn't stop soon, Kaner and I are going to jump into the lake and _die_ and then the kid will just cry at someone else."

"Uh," Sid says. "I'm… sorry? I don't- What can I do to help?" Jonny takes a slow breath through his mouth and holds it until he feels less like ripping his hair out. 

"He's Russian," Jonny says. Sid lets out his own deep breath of relief, the sound like static over the line. 

The sound of the party filters back through the phone for a moment, followed by Sid's muffled voice. For a few minutes, Jonny just listens to people that aren't him having a good time. It's soothing in an entirely unexpected way. He figures almost anything that's not heart wrenching sobs would be better at this point. 

"Sid say you have Russian baby?" Malkin asks. Jonny pushes himself off the wall and takes a deep breath to steel himself. 

"He's not a baby," he says. He opens the bathroom door and the sound of Artemi's sobs immediately hit him again. His chest aches, right alongside his head. " _Please_ , just- Just tell him we're trying to help. Find out something about him. I don't care what, just _make him stop crying_."

Patrick's on the couch, holding Artemi close to his chest, stroking the boy's back and rocking him. His eyes are red when Jonny catches them, his own tears wet on his cheeks. Jonny sits next to them and puts his phone on speaker. Sid says something too soft to make out, and then Malkin begins to talk. 

Artemi sits up straight at the sound of his voice, head nearly colliding with Patrick's chin. He grabs for the phone, still hiccuping. He answers Malkin easily, lower lip trembling, but his tears slowly fade away. Patrick carefully slides out from under him, disappearing into the bathroom. 

Malkin and Artemi talk for a long time. Jonny rests his head against the back of the couch, willing his headache away. The condo is quieter than it has been in hours, even with their voices. Once or twice, Artemi lets out a timid little laugh, his voice high and sweet. Jonny hears his and Patrick's names a few times, but he can't pick up the context. 

When Patrick comes back, his face has been washed and his eyes are mostly clear, but he looks exhausted. Jonny pulls him down on the cushion next to Artemi, folding him up into his arms. Patrick fights him for a second, but he either doesn't have enough energy to wriggle free, or he realizes that Jonny needs him to just be close for a bit, and he settles against Jonny's chest. 

"Toews?" Malkin asks. Artemi holds the phone out solemnly and Patrick takes it from him with a weak smile. 

"We're here," Patrick says. "Find out anything useful? Is he going to be okay?"

"Mama and Papa supposed to meet him at airport," Malkin says. His voice is a bit rough, like maybe he's as heartbroken as they are. "They put him on plane with note, but when he get there, they don't show. He say bad men come to his house many times before he leave, make lots of noise when they think he sleeping. Shoot dog one day. Lots of yelling." Patrick flinches. Jonny presses his face into Patrick's hair, breathing in slowly. Christ, no wonder the kid was crying. Malkin clears his throat. Sid says something to him, gentle and calming. "Mama tell him he safe in America. I'm say you keep him safe for Mama. But…"

"She might never come," Jonny says. Malkin makes a sound of agreement. 

Malkin fills them in on Artemi as best he can. Artemi's six. He has no siblings, no family outside of his parents. He seems cheerful, if confused, but not understanding them is scaring him more than anything else. He has a stuffed bear that he can't find and it's hard to sleep without it. He wants potatoes for dinner and only potatoes. He likes hockey. 

"Thank you," Jonny says when Malkin's run out of things to tell them. Artemi's moved from the couch to the table, little fingers flipping through the pages of the Sports Illustrated Patrick had left out. Every so often he stops to peer intently at a photo, stroking the glossy page. 

"He's learn English fast if you talk slow," Malkin says. Sid laughs and it breaks a little of the tension. Patrick takes down Malkin's number and Jonny says his goodbyes to Sid. He doesn't feel much better, actually feels worse, but at least Artemi's not crying and they have a way to communicate with him if they need it. 

"We need to tell the constable," Patrick says. He's heavy against Jonny's chest, his fingers hovering over the screen of his phone. Jonny pulls him closer. "If his parents- Christ, Jonny. You think they're dead?"

"I don't know," Jonny whispers. He knows Artemi can't understand them, but he still feels like a dick for talking about it in front of him. "Call him. I'll make dinner. Artemi?"

Artemi looks up, head cocked to the side. Whatever Malkin told him seems to have done the trick, because Artemi looks less suspicious when Jonny slides off the couch and holds a hand out to him. 

"Hungry?" Jonny asks, rubbing his own stomach. Artemi frowns at him and Jonny mimes eating. He feels like an idiot, but Artemi nods and takes his hand. 

Patrick stays on the couch, retelling the story to Constable Fraser while Jonny pulls out potatoes from the sack under the oven. Artemi climbs onto one of the stools, smacking Jonny's hands away when he tries to help, and watches attentively while Jonny peels and chops. He chatters at Jonny cheerfully, swaying back and forth on the stool. Jonny doesn't understand a damn thing, but he nods and smiles and makes encouraging noises. Artemi could be calling him a fuckhead and Jonny would have to take it. He hopes Malkin's right about the English.

When the potatoes are boiled and mostly cooled off, he hands Artemi the bowl and the sunny yellow masher and lets him have at it. 

"Zhenya!" Artemi kicks at Patrick's stomach, refusing to be held down. He says something in Russian, little voice broken. "Zhenya!" 

"Is that the fucking bear?" Jonny asks, half shouting to be heard. Patrick throws him a wild-eyed stare and takes another foot to the gut. "Artemi, please. Just stop crying." Jonny digs through the little suitcase again, hoping that he somehow managed to miss it the first three times, but there's no fucking stuffed bear.

Patrick yelps when Artemi gets him in the balls. He lets go, hunching over the bed, one hand desperately clutching the edge of the mattress. He takes a few gasping breaths before groping at his pockets and pulling out his phone. He throws it at Jonny, nearly braining him, and tries once again to gather the little ball of snarling fury.

"Call Malkin," he hisses.

"We can't call him every time Artemi throws a tantrum," Jonny snaps. They don't know how long Artemi's going to be with them. It's not fair to Malkin, not fair to Artemi. Patrick manages to get Artemi wrangled into his arms, forcibly hugging him into submission. Artemi howls the name of his stupid fucking bear again. 

"Just fucking do it." Patrick shushes ineffectively into Artemi's curls, pleading with him softly. Jonny stabs at Patrick's phone, pulling up Malkin's number and dialing. Any thoughts he had about them maybe having kids in the future shrivel up and die. They'd be fucking awful parents. 

"Kane?" Malkin asks. He doesn't sound like he's just woken up, which is something at least. Artemi struggles in Patrick's arms, reaching for Jonny, eyes on the phone. 

"I'm sorry to call you again, but Artemi's freaking out about his bear and I'm kind of scared he's going to hurt himself," Jonny says in a rush. 

"Put on phone," Malkin says with a sigh. Jonny puts it on speaker and holds it up in front of Artemi's red, swollen face. Malkin says something to him, and Artemi goes immediately limp. Patrick presses his face into Artemi's hair, his shoulders shaking just enough to give him away. 

Malkin's voice is soothing, even if Jonny doesn't understand anything. He talks until Artemi begins to list into Patrick's chest, eyes slowly sliding closed. When he looks well and truly out, Jonny thumbs off the speaker and slips into the hallway, Malkin's voice still in his ear. 

"He's asleep," Jonny whispers. He's exhausted, body sore even though he hadn't dealt with the brunt of Artemi's flailing. He can't imagine what Patrick's feeling. "He just kept yelling for his bear and we couldn't-" Malkin laughs and Jonny bristles. 

"Zhenya is me," Malkin says warmly. "Is little name for Evgeni. He want bedtime story."

"Jesus fuck," Jonny mutters. He rubs at his temple with his knuckle. The thought hadn't occurred to him. Not that it would have mattered. He doesn't know any kid's stories and he doubts Patrick does either. Not that Artemi would have understood anyway. "I'm sorry again."

"I come," Malkin says decisively. 

"What? No. You've got-"

"I come," Malkin says again. Jonny's been on the other side of a Malkin stare-down, has faced off against him and been promptly knocked on his ass. It feels kind of like that now, even if he can't see him. "Address."

Jonny's just finished giving him the address of his building and directions from the airport when Patrick slides out of the bedroom, closing the door until there's just a sliver of dark space left behind. He throws his arms over Jonny's shoulders and slumps into his chest, forehead knocking three times against Jonny's collarbone. 

"Malkin's coming," Jonny says when he hangs up. The steamrolled feeling hasn't gone away. Patrick blinks up at him. 

"I said call him, not invite him into the guest room." He waltz-walks them toward the bathroom, feet shuffling on the hardwood, guiding Jonny backwards. "Dude."

"He insisted." Jonny winces when his hip hits the wall just to the side of the bathroom but lets Patrick shove him inside anyway. He gropes around Patrick's back for their toothbrushes, elbowing him aside to get to the sink. "Apparently the Bully thing works off-ice, too."

"Oh my god, I agree to go to stay in Chicago for one summer and I end up with a house full of Russians," Patrick whines. Jonny grimaces. Maybe they should have gone to Buffalo, like Patrick had wanted to in the first place. Patrick hip checks him, meeting his eyes in the mirror. He's got toothpaste on the corners of his lips, chewing on the bristles in the way that Jonny will forever think is gross. "Hey. Dude. I'm glad I'm here, alright?"

"I'm glad you're here, too." Jonny spits into the sink, tired but content. He'd have already gone crazy three times over if Patrick hadn't been with him. "Stop doing that, you freak. It's fucking disgusting." Patrick chomps down harder on the bristles and flashes a frothy grin at him. 

They collapse into bed together easily, knocking knees and elbows. Patrick bullies Jonny into being the little spoon, plastering himself neatly to Jonny's back. He's warm and the bed is soft and Artemi's sleeping safely in the next room. 

It's a good end to a shitty day.

\---

Breakfast goes well. Artemi cracks eggs into the plastic bowl Patrick holds steady for him, stirring merrily when he's given a fork. He curls up on the couch when the eggs are scrambled, eyes fixed on whatever brightly colored cartoon's taken over the TV. Jonny downs most of the pot of coffee, glad that Patrick doesn't give him shit for it. 

Jonny considers calling his mom for advice on entertaining a six-year-old, but squashes the thought as soon as it appears. She'd ask a lot of questions he doesn't have answers for and demand to come help. They've already got one busybody on the way. God knows they don't need two. 

"We should keep doing the tourist thing," Patrick says. He steals Jonny's toast and takes a giant bite, stuffing it into his cheek to keep talking. "We were gonna do the aquarium anyway. Kids like that shit, right?"

"And if we get recognized?" Jonny asks. He doesn't usually think about it. He's not vain enough to think that most people know who he is, but they're coming off another Cup win and he's seen enough posters around downtown to know that they've got at least another few weeks before the excitement wears off. Patrick shrugs. 

"We say he's one of my cousins or something," he says. "He kind of looks like he could be a Kane, as long as he doesn't say anything." There's truth to it. With his curly hair and big blue eyes, Artemi really could be one of Patrick's relatives. 

"Sure," Jonny says. He grabs another cup of coffee, retrieves the last sad bits of his toast, and nods. "Why not? Training first." Patrick rolls his eyes. "Training first, Patrick."

"Yeah, yeah."

They wrangle Artemi up enough to usher him to the exercise room, planting him on a workout bench with Patrick's tablet. Jonny's smart enough not to sacrifice his own. They probably could have left him in the front room, but Jonny doesn't really want to have him out of sight. Artemi had escaped a cop and a mountie. He and Patrick don't have shit on that. 

It's easy to fall into routine. He's been doing some variation of the same system since he'd been drafted. It's boring, but he likes seeing the changes in his body as he bulks back up. He'll always be kind of skinny, but his chest fills out and his arms get bigger and Patrick starts making more jokes about the size of his ass, so it's rewarding in its own way. 

Plus, watching Patrick sweat it out is never going to be a hardship. 

They're half an hour into it when the doorbell rings. Patrick shrugs when Jonny looks at him, exchanging dumbbells for a kettlebell. Artemi doesn't look up from the tablet. Something bouncy and distinctly foreign language is playing from the speakers, echoing off the walls. Jonny sighs, wipes himself off with a towel, and goes to answer the damn door when the bell rings again.

Malkin's on the other side of the door, a rolling suitcase in one hand and his gear bag in the other. He smiles brightly, like it's not weird for him to be there at all, and steps to the side to reveal Sid. Somehow, Jonny's not surprised. 

"Hey," he says, stepping out of the way to let them in. Sid gives a weak wave and closes the door behind him. He's laden with his own bags. Jonny doesn't know how long they plan on staying, but he's got a feeling he doesn't have a choice either way. 

"Show me baby," Malkin demands as soon as he's kicked off his sneakers. He claps his giant hands together, craning his neck to peer around the front room. Sid elbows him, but he looks just as eager as Malkin to get a peek at Artemi. 

Jonny leads them to the exercise room. Patrick's on the bike, legs pumping slowly, Artemi balanced carefully in his lap. He's got one arm wrapped delicately around Artemi's waist to steady him. Jonny's annoyed that he's not actually doing his training regimen, but Artemi seems pleased by the whole thing, upping the incline as far as Patrick will let him. Patrick looks up at them, grinning sheepishly. He knows he's been busted. 

Artemi's eyes go wide when he sees Malkin. He slaps at Patrick's arms, wiggling until he's able to get free, but once he's on the ground he doesn't do anything but crane his head back and stare. Malkin laughs, big and bright, and kneels before saying something. Artemi takes a careful step forward and shoots Jonny a betrayed look, little voice stern as he chews him out. Malkin laughs again. 

"He say you not tell him Zhenya is great Evgeni Malkin," he says, shaking his head. Sid sighs. "Very upset you hold back."

"He's going to be awful all summer," Sid says. 

Jonny grabs Malkin's bags while Malkin and Artemi commune or whatever, leading Sid towards the other guest bedroom. They're either going to have to share or someone's going to have to camp it out on the couch. They can argue over it on their own time. 

"So," Sid says, dropping his stuff next to the bed. "You and Kane are still…?"

"Yeah." Jonny fusses with the kind of dusty sheets to avoid looking at him. There aren't a lot of people outside the team that know, with good reason, but Sid's always been a decent guy, and it was nice to complain to him about missing Patrick while they were at the Olympics. If he'd gone to Sharpy, he would have been laughed out of the room. "A little over two years, so. This was supposed to be, like, an easy summer vacation."

"I always foster stray Russian kids for my relaxing vacations," Sid says, snorting out one of his stupid laughs when Jonny smacks him in the face with a pillow. "To be fair, you invited Geno. That's like two kids for the price of one."

"I didn't invite Malkin. He invited himself. And you, apparently." 

"Ah, sorry." Sid shifts uncomfortably, still barely inside the door. Jonny rolls his eyes and throws the other pillow at him. "Is it fine if I stay? I should have asked. Geno gets kind of-" He shrugs. If Sid can't find the words to describe him, it's probably a bad sign. 

"If anything, we can catch a flight to Canada and train there," Jonny muses. It's tempting, even if he'd never leave Patrick hanging like that. "Leave the kids to play."

"They'd burn the house down," Sid says. He flops on the bed next to Jonny, eyes closing. Jonny hasn't seen him in person in a while, but they've kept in touch, gone out after games to catch up. Sid's weird, but everything about Jonny's life is kind of weird. "You okay? You sounded- you sounded pretty wrecked, man."

"I didn't think it would be this hard to take care of a kid," Jonny admits. He picks at a loose thread on the knee of his shorts, shrugging. "I thought- maybe we could see how it was? But we've been total shit so far. So." Sid's quiet for a long moment. Jonny squirms. 

"Shit," Sid eventually says. "You're that serious? Kids and stuff?"

"Maybe," Jonny hedges. They haven't talked about it, not in concrete terms, but Jonny can see them together after they're too old to play. It's not something he likes to think about- the thought of life without hockey is daunting- but it's there, in the back of his mind. "Not that it matters. Like I said, we haven't been able to get the kid to sleep without him bawling for a while. We might not be cut out for it." Sid bumps Jonny's hip with his knee.

"He's in a new country without his parents, doesn't understand anything that's going on around him, and doesn't speak the language," Sid says softly. "He's scared. That's not your fault."

"Have a lot of experience there?"

"Geno may or may not have cried a few times during his first season," Sid says slowly. He takes a glance at the door, like Malkin might be looming there. Jonny snorts. He can't picture Malkin crying. "Please don't tell him I told you that."

"I am totally telling him you said that," Jonny says, jumping off the bed towards the door. Sid catches him around the thigh with his calves, pulling him back. He wrestles Jonny to the ground and sits on him, eyes wide like he thinks Jonny actually might. His face softens as he stands back up. 

"You guys are doing good, okay?" He offers Jonny a hand up and shakes himself off. "I'm hungry." Jonny snorts again. 

The rest of the household has migrated to the living room. Patrick's still in his sweaty workout clothes, towel under his ass to protect the couch, half-heartedly watching the muted TV. Artemi's clinging to his leg, still wide-eyed as he talks animatedly to Malkin. Sid invades his kitchen, lips pursed and eyes narrowed.

Jonny forces himself to relax. The reinforcements have come. They'll be okay.

\---

Artemi loves the aquarium. He runs from tank to tank, eyes turned electric blue from the lights, asking Malkin questions in rapid fire and wandering off before Malkin can finish answering. He spends a long time on the glass walkway, watching stingrays lazily swim under his feet. 

"See," Patrick says, bumping against Jonny's shoulder. "We can totally entertain a kid." A little girl joins Artemi on the walkway, stamping her foot, and Artemi scolds her. She cocks her head before grabbing him by the wrist and dragging him over to the reef tank. "He's already got more game than you."

"Obviously," Jonny says. He gives Patrick a lazy once over and Patrick grins. 

"I'm totally slumming it," Patrick says. He brushes his knuckles against Jonny's before following Artemi and the little girl. 

Jonny hangs back with Sid, reading informational plaques and displays. Malkin disappeared somewhere near the polar bears, but Sid doesn't seem worried, so Jonny's going to let it go. They move from exhibit to exhibit in easy silence, catching glances of Patrick and the kids as they go.

"You should say something to him," Sid says to the giant fuck-off shark swimming close to the glass wall. The shark brushes up against the glass before swimming off towards the rock cove at the other end of the room. There's someone in full scuba gear with a bucket of something unpleasant looking in their hands. His balls have to be the size of planets. No one could pay Jonny enough money to climb willingly into an enclosed space with sharks. Sid elbows him. 

"What?" 

"You should say something to Patrick," Sid says. "About the kid thing."

"Or," Jonny says, wincing as the shark's jaws latch onto a still wiggling fish, "I could not. One trial at a time, eh?" Sid frowns, but he doesn't say anything else. Jonny will talk to Patrick when he's ready. If he's ever ready. They're still young. They've got time to talk about kids or whatever else later. 

"Lose baby already?" Malkin asks from behind them. Jonny jumps, shoulder slamming into Sid's chest. For as big as he is, Malkin's a stealthy motherfucker. 

"Patrick's with him. Somewhere." Jonny cranes his neck and sees the tops of two curly heads bent together near the stingray walkway again. Patrick's nodding along to whatever Artemi's saying. 

"Get. We have tickets." Malkin waves him off imperiously, throwing an arm over Sid's shoulders. Sid leans into him, which is kind of weird on its own. 

"You get," Jonny says. Malkin just smiles. "I should have found Ovechkin's number." He ignores whatever taunt Malkin sends his way, choosing instead to gather his own kids up. Patrick looks up at him with a smile. 

"Stingray," Artemi says, pointing to the blobby lump of fish under his feet. "Fish."

"Good job, buddy," Jonny says. He can't help the frizzle of warmth that crawls up into his chest. They haven't really done much to teach him anything useful, but it's something at least. "Malkin got us tickets for something." Artemi screeches when Patrick hoists him up onto his shoulders, grabbing onto Patrick's hair with one hand. Patrick flinches but doesn't make him let go. 

Malkin leads them through the aquarium, arm still over Sid's shoulders. He's easily a head taller than everyone else, almost impossible to lose in the crowd, but he keeps looking back to make sure they're following. When they reach the penguin enclosure, Jonny groans. He should have known. 

"No," Patrick whines. He tightens his hands around Artemi's dangling ankles, swinging him around in a terrifying arc as he turns his back. "You're not corrupting our kid with lameass birds that can't even fly." Jonny's breath catches. _Our kid_. Sid's watching him, eyebrows raised pointedly, but Jonny can't think past those two words. Fuck. 

"Penguins best," Malkin says, handing over the tickets to the teenager behind the podium. She gestures towards the door and dips her head to look down at her phone, entirely unimpressed with everything. "Kids like cute bird. Not my fault you have stupid mascot." Jonny sighs and grabs a handful of Patrick's shirt, pulling him into the enclosure. 

They're greeted by a woman in khakis and a blue polo that introduces herself as Christina. She smiles at Artemi and leads them into a narrow room with bench seats lined up against the wall. Jonny would accuse Malkin of throwing his weight around, but there's a cheery poster detailing the excitement of the penguin encounter tacked to the wall. 

They settle down onto the benches, Artemi squished between Malkin and Patrick, and Christina tells them about the penguins. Malkin translates for Artemi, his voice a low murmur under the sounds of the aquarium outside and the squawking of the penguins. Jonny listens because penguins might be inferior, but it's neat to hear about how they're raised and bred. 

"Would you like to see one?" Christina asks Artemi. He sits up when Malkin repeats it, nodding hard enough that his curls bounce. Christina tells them the rules, Malkin repeating them in Russian, and then disappears through a door. 

The penguin waddles in, wings held away from its sides, and opens its beak to let out a shrill cry. Artemi's eyes are wide as the penguin wanders through the narrow space between the benches, but he sits still like he was told to 

"Penguin," Malkin says, pointing. 

"Penguin," Artemi repeats. It doesn't sound quite right, his vowels still kind of weird, but Jonny can understand it well enough. 

They each get to feed the penguin a fish. Patrick, who is surprisingly prissy at the best of times, lets Artemi take his turn, taking photos on his phone instead. Malkin coos at it. Jonny's going to have to check the bathtub when they get home to make sure he didn't steal it. They finish up the encounter pretty soon after that. The penguin was pretty cool, but Jonny's not saying that out loud. He knows Sid and he figures Patrick would brand him a traitor. Christina takes them back out to the main aquarium and waves. 

"Penguins best," Artemi says, beaming when Malkin nods. 

"Traitor," Patrick accuses, eyes narrowed. Artemi screeches merrily when Patrick goes in for a tickle attack. 

"He has taste," Sid says with a grin. Jonny is mature enough not launch his own tickle attack, but he does get a pinch in that makes Sid squawk in an appropriately embarrassing way. 

They end up buying a penguin stuffed animal in the gift shop to hopefully replace the lost bear. Artemi holds it to his tiny chest, slumping against Malkin's shoulder. His legs dangle down, sneakers thumping weakly against Malkin's hip. Maybe he'll actually sleep through the night. 

Sid's French is just as awful as Jonny remembers, but Jonny still understands it almost better than he does Geno's English. Patrick looks between them and Geno and Artemi, bouncing back and forth between conversations he can't understand. 

"Come the fuck on," he whines, kicking Jonny's thigh. "Stop being Canadian at each other. Aren't we supposed to be teaching the kid American?"

"Not my fault you were too uncultured to learn a different language," Jonny says, almost by rote. It's a conversation they've had before. Patrick's never got the hang of new languages- no matter how hard Jonny's tried to teach him at least the basics of French- because he's too stubborn to let go of English. 

"Fuck you," Patrick says, kicking out again. Jonny catches his foot, pinching at his ankle under his sock. Sid's watching them, head cocked to the side, either amused or disturbed. He's always been hard to get a read on. 

Artemi beams at them from over Geno's shoulder and very carefully says, "Fuck!"

"Christ," Jonny mutters, leaning back against the back of the couch while Patrick and Geno collapse into laughter. Sid rubs at his forehead and takes a slow breath in through his nose. Artemi, reacting to Patrick and Geno's joy, repeats himself gleefully. Patrick falls off the couch with a thud, clutching his stomach. Geno goes shortly after.

"I'm calling an intervention," Sid mutters, stepping forward and snagging Artemi under the arms, hauling him off towards the kitchen. Jonny peers down at Patrick, scowling when Patrick starts giggling again. 

"It's not that funny," Jonny says. 

"Is little funny," Geno says. Jonny scowls harder. He's going to have to separate them soon. Jesus, he's turned into his dad. He leaves them on the floor, following after Sid, the only other person in the house that qualifies as an actual adult. 

Artemi's been distracted with a juice box, sitting on the edge of the counter, his heels thumping against the counters. He's watching Sid pull fish and chicken nuggets from the freezer, face screwed up into a familiarly skeptical expression. 

"I kind of want to make out with Geno," Patrick says, lips moving over the thin skin of Jonny's throat. Jonny's hand stills on his back. Patrick looks up at him, expression neutral. 

"In a _thanks for taking care of the kid technically in my charge_ kind of way, or a _this is the lead up to sucking your dick_ kind of way?" Jonny asks. Patrick shrugs, the motion sending Jonny's hand sliding down to rest over his ass. 

"Both?" Patrick frowns, his eyes bright even in the darkness of the room. Jonny's breath catches in his throat. The thought of Patrick with someone else makes his chest hurt. 

"Oh," he stutters out. Patrick punches him in the shoulder, knuckles dragging harder than they need to. 

"Stop panicking, dumbass," he says, wiggling up to sit across Jonny's thighs. He gets an elbow into Jonny's side as he goes, unapologetically smashing his chest into Jonny's face. "I'm not going to fuck anyone without you, Jesus Christ. We're responsible adults and shit. I'm _communicating my desires_." He keeps smothering Jonny with whole body until Jonny bites his left pec, negating all claims of responsible adulthood. "Ow. Motherfucker."

"When are you going to have the time for a threesome?" Jonny asks as Patrick lays back down over him. "Artemi sleeps like shit in the best of circumstances." He tries not to let any of his jealousy leak out. 

"We could always ask Sid to take him somewhere," Patrick says. He lays his head on Jonny's chest, yawning a little into Jonny's side. "Plus, nothing says thanks like a beej." He pats his hand over Jonny's stomach, clearly tired. Jonny curls in close to him, pressing his nose to Patrick's hair. It tickles a little, but Jonny wants to be as close as he can. "Hey."

"So," Patrick says, leaning back against the couch. "You wanna go upstairs with us?" Jonny winces. Christ, Kaner has no tact whatsoever. Patrick flinches when Jonny elbows him. "Ow. What? Sid's got the kid and summer's gonna end eventually. Someone's got to get the ball rolling."

Geno's a full head taller than Patrick. He has to bend down to press their mouth together. 

"Are you and Geno-"

"No," Sid says quickly. He winces and tugs at the hems of his basketball shorts. "It's not- No." 

"We can't keep him," Jonny says, his throat closing up at the thought. Artemi isn't theirs. He _can't _be. "Fuck, even if we somehow managed to get adoption papers, and if we weren't chased out of the league, he should be with a Russian family. It's- he deserves to know where he came from."__

__"Good thing he have favorite uncle Zhenya," Geno says warmly. He taps his knuckles against Jonny's cheek gently, grinning when Jonny bats him away. "You want keep Artemi?"_ _

__"We _can't_ "_ _

__"Not what I'm ask," Geno says. Seriousness doesn't suit him. It dulls the lively spark in his eyes, makes his mouth go hard when it's usually so soft. He levels Jonny with a hard look and taps his face again. "You want keep Artemi?"_ _

__"Yes," Jonny breathes. God, he wants that more than anything. He wants to see Artemi grow up, wants to teach him to play hockey and video games, wants to shield him from the world that's already been too cruel. Geno smiles._ _

__"Then you keep. I make sure he remember Russia." His grin grows as he looks back over his shoulder, where Sid and Patrick are wrestling Artemi to the floor. His shrieks of laughter are piercing and high and the best thing Jonny's ever heard. "Maybe he get Sid to finally visit too, yes? Win for all."_ _

__

__

__Jonny buys them a house. It's a small place in Ukrainian Village, squashed between a few tall apartment buildings. He could have found something nicer in the suburbs, but he figured they'd like at least a little bit of home nearby. The house is solid and open on the inside, full of warm colors and big windows that let in the sunlight._ _


End file.
